


woke up in the name that I wore last night

by coffeepoweredlesbian



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Angst, Episode: s01e18 Juno Steel and the Final Resting Place, Eye Trauma, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt Peter Nureyev, Implied Sexual Content, Junoverse | Juno Steel Universe, Other, Peter Nureyev Needs a Hug, Post-Episode: s01e18 Juno Steel and the Final Resting Place, Sad Peter Nureyev, Substance Abuse, hella content warnings on this one folks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-16 07:08:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29203356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeepoweredlesbian/pseuds/coffeepoweredlesbian
Summary: It isn't supposed to go like this.Peter Nureyev wants everything to be perfect. It's what Juno Steel deserves, nothing less than perfection.It's a shame, then, that Peter is unable to deliver.
Relationships: Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel
Comments: 4
Kudos: 56





	woke up in the name that I wore last night

**Author's Note:**

> This is a heavier one, so please heed the content warnings. 
> 
> CW for: non-explicit sex, substance abuse (namely, taking medication that was prescribed to someone else), peter-typical insecurity/compartmentalization/shit coping mechanisms 
> 
> I hope you enjoy reading some classic Final Resting Place angst <3

The first—and as it would turn out, last—time Peter Nureyev slept with Juno Steel, they were two seconds away from complete collapse, both of them on heavy painkillers, still malnourished and bruised from their time in the tomb. Peter had refused to undress all the way, keeping his undershirt on to hide the raised, red electrical marks Miasma’s machine had inflicted on his back and chest. He only took his boxers off when Juno, seemingly getting the hint, leaned over to the lamp on the nightstand and pulled the cord, leaving them both in semidarkness. 

Everything was supposed to be perfect. _Peter_ was supposed to be perfect. Juno deserved that much. Every time Peter thought about Juno, he had imagined a lavish room, silken sheets, Peter’s own body unmarred by scars, eyes bright and eager and sparkling. Lipstick marks blooming like rose petals. Instead, the hotel was simply the closest and cleanest building they could find in their frazzled condition. Peter was on the brink of passing out and Juno wasn’t much better, only a few days after the emergency surgery to remove foreign matter from his eye. And apparently, his entire eye right along with it. The remaining one was sunken and hollow, whatever fire that had burned in it snuffed out, ashes leaving dark circles that were mirrored on Peter’s own face. 

Neither of them spoke much. Juno wasn’t very talkative after the hospital, and even less so in bed. Peter’s voice was hoarse from screaming, and every attempt at words felt like pounding down the door to the bomb’s chamber. A reminder that he wanted to crumple up, file away, never to be considered again. Juno’s lips still tasted like blood. Or maybe that was Peter, whose own mouth was so chapped he could peel the outer layer of skin off in strips. They clung to each other, unwilling to let the other go for fear that everything after the Egg of Purus had been a dream, that they would wake up in that Martian tomb and be pushed to the edge of death again and again. The lack of a light left them fumbling in the dark, Juno’s warmth the only reassurance that he was alive. That they were alive. 

It was hazy and silent and over far too quickly. Objectively, it should have been the worst sex Peter ever had. 

And yet it was perfect. Juno was perfect. Every touch, every kiss, felt like healing. Like whatever Miasma had done to them that left them in a haphazard tangle of shards was being smoothed over, everything slotted back together. For the first time in an incredibly long while, Peter felt whole. Tears welled and threatened to spill, and he was suddenly thankful for the darkness. Juno was most likely crying too, because Peter’s next kiss missed the mark, landing on Juno’s cheek, and came away tasting salt. Peter didn’t know what to say, the feeling that had seized him so new and so terrifying that his words barely registered to his own ears.

_I may have fallen in love with you._

A gross understatement, if he was being honest. He might’ve fallen in love with Juno when he first saw him trying to leap out a window if it meant avoiding Rex Glass. Or in Juno’s apartment, the very moment Juno snapped those handcuffs on him. Perhaps it was when he saw Juno projected over the red dunes of the Martian desert, hair flowing in the wind as he shot down their pursuers, one after the other. It was a good thing the Ruby was automated, because Peter would have most definitely lost control of the car watching Juno dispense laser bolts like a wrathful goddess. 

In any case, Peter had already made up his mind about what he wanted in the tomb, when he held onto Juno’s hand like a lifeline and let him look through every hidden memory shoved deep within his subconscious. Regardless of _when_ he fell in love, Peter’s decision had been sealed without a hint of uncertainty. He wanted to give the universe to Juno, the wonder of seeing a new planet, the exhilaration of jumping from space shuttle to asteroid to nebula, that exquisite feeling of warmth that expanded in Peter’s chest when he thought about their life to come.

It was a shame Juno Steel was unable to do the same. Make up his mind, that is. 

Peter had always been a light sleeper. The difference in seconds it took to wake up could mean life or death. _First rule of thieving: react first or you will not get an opportunity to react at all._ So when the bed shifted, Peter’s eyes fluttered open immediately. Distantly, he could hear Juno getting dressed, the clinking of a belt buckle, fabric rustling as he pulled his clothes back on. Was he going to get breakfast for the two of them? Calling his secretary, perhaps? He waited, keeping his breaths slow and steady so as not to disturb Juno. Whatever he was doing, he’d be back soon. Perhaps he just wanted to leave early, to begin their new life amongst the stars together as soon as possible. Any moment now, Juno would come back and wake Peter with a kiss. 

The door opened. Peter almost frowned, then realized he was supposed to be sleeping. Just barely, he peered through his eyelashes to see a blurry silhouette, standing in the doorway, staring right at him. It took every ounce of Peter’s self control to stay motionless. He shifted like he was still sleeping and murmured:

_“Juno.”_

A pause. Then, the door closed.

_Well._

Peter Nureyev had never been good at keeping things around. His stolen treasures, he fenced. His aliases, he discarded, the same with his multitude of lovers. But Juno—

Juno Steel was the one thing he wanted to keep. Selfishly, perhaps, but Peter had already handed Juno everything he had. After such a long time being alone, to have someone by his side felt like a neverending dream. Peter hadn’t worked with a partner for almost two decades now, and he got careless in his desperation to have someone to weather the adrenaline and near death experiences with. He divulged his name, his secrets, his plans. He relinquished his body, his past, his future. Everything Peter ever had was given over to Juno Steel. And when he had no more left to give, when all the cards were on the table…

_Well._

Peter wasn’t used to being inadequate. He supposed he would just have to get used to it. Or better yet, make sure he was never put in a position where he could never be cast aside again.

Peter lay in bed for as long as he dared, unwilling to open his eyes lest he start crying again, this time for a wholly different reason. To shed tears now would be an unforgivable weakness. That was what had gotten him into this mess in the first place. He had spent so long floating above regular people in the stratosphere, that he had forgotten himself, who he was meant to be, and let himself get pulled down to the ground. Let his ever-expanding wings be torn from his body and for what? For something as fleeting as a connection he thought he had? 

It was pathetic. Mag would be ashamed.

The name felt like a slap to the face. Peter gave himself a literal one, just to shock that particular recollection from his mind. The pain was sharp and grounding, enough to snap him completely awake. Good. He was getting somewhere. 

Peter very pointedly did not examine the room for any trace of his forgotten bedmate. He had documents to forge, a trip off Mars to arrange, and a job to plan. There was no time to linger. In order to survive in this big, mean world, Peter needed to match it, tooth for tooth, nail for nail. Or, better yet, he needed to make sure nothing would ever bring him down. It came to him like an epiphany: he needed to be completely untouchable, impervious to all fault, emotion, failing. 

Untouchable. He mouthed the word to himself like it was some revered secret. Then, he leaned over to the nightstand, where Juno had left behind his own post-surgery medication. Peter swallowed down the pills dry, gulping down whatever bits of saliva he could manage, as if that would make them go down easier. For good measure, he took another. 

Then, Peter Ransom got out of bed, arranging all the files from the past month into neat little folders and filing them right beside his planet of origin and his name. Nonexistent. Mere hindrances to his criminal career, nothing but disappointments in the story of his life. He was the Nameless Thief, the Elusive Homme Fatale who took whatever he wanted whenever he wanted it, and wanted for nothing and no-one except himself and his next success. And he would be _damned_ if he didn’t act like it.

Ransom crossed the room in two long strides, pulling the curtains back, and smiled out the window. He greeted the new day and crushed every part of him that refused to go along with his plans, filing away every pesky thought that would distract him, tie him down, maybe even break him, if Ransom was someone breakable, and he was certainly not. 

_Untouchable._

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from White Knuckle Jerk by Will Wood, which is a massively jupeter song. 
> 
> I refuse to stop writing Peter angst,,,Juno has suffered enough it's time that Peter gets whumped. 
> 
> Anyway I hope you enjoyed reading this! I swear, I read and reread every single comment multiple times through, and I always love to hear what others think of my fics so! Spare some validation <3
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!


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